


Mistaken For Strangers

by orphan_account



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dubious Consent, Gaslighting, Multi, Pure Trash OT3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4379576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew belongs to them- he just doesn't know it yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistaken For Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> Title stolen from a song by [The National](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cgRsYkKb1eI).

Matthew was drunk, and it was the first time she had seen him so loose, so relaxed. Sober, Matthew Murdock was a man on edge, constantly in control and very sharp-witted; by contrast, Matthew Murdock completely shitfaced was a giggly, handsy mess. Vanessa wanted to see it more often. 

He’d lost his glasses at some point in the evening, and without them he looked oddly young, his eyes uncovered and emotions bared to them. He leaned on Wilson, not so much sitting on the car seat as sprawled over it, his legs tangled with Vanessa’s. She stroked his thigh, idly, and glanced up to meet Wilson’s gaze; he was pleased, finally, to see Matthew finally stop fighting them, at least for one night. 

Matthew was playing with the collar of Wilson’s dress shirt, running his fingers over it, almost reverently. “It’s silk,” he said, when she asked, “feels nice.” 

Wilson caught his wrist and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to Matthew’s bruised knuckles. “How about this?” 

Matthew made a sound in his throat. “Also nice.” His free hand groped out to Vanessa’s lap, seeking hers; she gripped it firmly, grounding him, as Wilson reached up to tilt Matthew’s face toward him, running a thumb over the stubble on his chin. Matthew’s cheek bore a rather spectacular bruise, and Wilson’s hand covered it neatly. 

“You always seem to be getting banged up,” Vanessa said, smiling at the way Matthew melted into the touch. “If I didn’t know any better, Matthew, I would think you’re going out and picking fights.” 

Matthew froze, then started laughing, strangely high-pitched. “Yeah,” he said, between bouts of giggles, “I’m in a secret fight club. A secret blind fight club.” He paused, as though he were thinking it over. “You have to be blind to join.” 

“I though you weren’t supposed to talk about fight club,” Wilson rumbled, amused. His fingers were running lightly over the bruise. 

“Secret Blind Fight Club,” Matthew corrected, attempting to inject a note of authority into his voice. “We don’t have that rule because nobody would believe us anyway.” 

Vanessa laughed, and Matthew tilted his head toward her, grinning. “Well, I suppose it explains the bruises.” 

“Yes,” Wilson added. “Slightly more believable than Matthew being a vigilante, I suppose.” 

They both smiled as Matthew froze again, this time in real alarm; Vanessa expected him to struggle, to knock Wilson’s hand away, but he seemed too off-balance to act at all. He inhaled, shakily, and visibly attempted to calm himself by taking measured breaths. Wilson continued touching him, his hand moving slightly to Matthew’s neck, soothingly, but Matthew was shaking. 

Vanessa squeezed his hand. “Matthew, relax,” she said, softly, and his breaths stuttered. She leaned toward him, closing the slight distance between them, and met Wilson’s hand with her own, touching the column of Matthew’s neck. She felt him swallow. 

“How- how long have you known?” He asked, finally, uncertainly. 

“A blind man walked into my art gallery and started asking me about my fiancé,” Vanessa said, mildly. “It was unusual enough to look into.” 

“I recognized your voice later that night,” Wilson said, and Matthew made a noise- fear? “Not until after you- escaped, unfortunately. But Vanessa suggested we invite you to dinner, just to be sure.” 

“When you were told me you had been in a car accident, it was clearly a lie, sweetheart,” Vanessa continued. “You’re not a very good liar, Matthew.” 

Matthew was still shaking. Vanessa finally gave in and reached up to run a hand through his hair, and he leaned into it despite himself. He was so responsive to them, even now. 

“What- what now,” Matthew asked, haltingly. 

“We’ll be arriving at your apartment soon,” Wilson replied. “We will see you up to make sure you don’t have an accident- you were stumbling quite a bit just getting to the car.” 

“Yes,” Vanessa finished. “And I hope you will consider next Friday.” 

“What.” 

“The wine tasting,” Wilson reminded him. “You said you would think about accompanying us. I think you would enjoy it.” 

Matthew tilted his head toward Wilson, then to Vanessa, his eyes darting around though they were unseeing. “I don’t- I don’t understand.” 

Wilson rested his hand on Matthew’s chest, over his heart, and Matthew swallowed again, turning to face him again. “We would like to keep seeing you.” 

“Yes,” Vanessa finished. “You’re not getting away from us so easily, Matthew.” 

**

Matthew’s apartment was laughably sparse- that, at least, he hadn’t been lying about. No decoration on the walls, no personal touches at all; the only thing not strictly utilitarian were the silk sheets on his bed, a rather strange touch compared to the rest. 

Matthew leaned heavily against Wilson, his cane held tightly in one fist. He had fished his glasses from somewhere in his suit pocket, and wore them now, covering his eyes as though to put a barrier between them, too late. He had closed himself off again for the rest of the ride over, Vanessa was sad to see, but she supposed it was only natural: he had, after all, lied to them as well, if by omission. That he had agreed to dinner in the first place only to find out more about Wilson hadn’t bothered them, at all, since their motives had been similar. 

“I can walk,” he muttered, after a moment, and Wilson let him step away without argument. There had been some worry, after the car had come to a stop, that he would attempt to flee, but he was still far too tipsy to try. Vanessa suspected most of his relaxed demeanor earlier in the night had been an act, but he still swayed uncertainly on his feet. He didn’t use the cane, however. Whatever abilities he had- superhuman or otherwise- seemed to allow him to find his way around just fine. That he was actually blind had never been a question: faking twenty years of medical history could possibly be done, but the way his pupils failed to dilate in the light was another thing entirely. 

Vanessa dearly wanted to ask, but tonight was not the time. Matthew was already on guard. Another time, when he was finally done fighting them, perhaps. For now, she watched him walk to his couch, unsteadily, and all but collapse on it. 

"I-” he started, then closed his mouth with an audible click of teeth, running a hand over his lips as he worked his jaw open and closed. It was a nervous tic, Vanessa knew. One of many, in fact: he had a habit of fiddling with his clothes, or napkins, or whatever else he could reach when anxious or idle. She wondered if the textures soothed him; it was much the same for Wilson, the way he worried his cuff links. 

Wilson walked to the living room window, illuminated in pink by the digital billboard across the street. It was rather obnoxious and probably the only reason Matthew could afford the apartment, as spacious as it was. Vanessa busied herself with touring the living room, pausing to examine a lamp that appeared to have no bulb in it. The apartment was in disarray: shattered plexiglass and splinters of wood that Matthew had missed cleaning up, cracked floorboards at the foot of the stairs that lead to the roof access- it looked almost as though he had fought someone here. The plexiglass was clearly left over from the missing panel that should have closed off the bedroom. 

She heard Matthew clear his throat. “Are you- I don’t really understand what you two want from me,” he said. He turned his face toward Wilson, seeking answers, but he didn’t look away from the window. 

“Sweetheart,” Vanessa said, coming to sit beside him on the couch, “I already told you. We enjoy your company.” 

“Yes,” Wilson agreed, turning from the window at last. The colours on his face shifted, pink to white, and he locked eyes with Vanessa. “Our intentions at first were- like yours, I suppose. We wanted to know more about you.” Matthew opened his mouth as if to argue, but seemed to think better of it. “I admit that I wanted to kill you, originally. I was angry that you had come after- Vanessa.” He paused, coming to stand beside her; she took his hand, for a moment, running her thumb over his knuckles. 

“I didn’t ‘come after’ her,” Matthew protested. Vanessa smoothed her hand down his back and the fight went out of him, as suddenly as it had come. He bit his bottom lip, but leaned into her touch. Again, Vanessa marveled at how responsive he was, almost touch-starved. 

“I know, Matthew,” she said, and Wilson made a noise of agreement. 

“You-” he paused, turning his face up at Wilson. “You had Elena Cardenas killed. To get to me.” 

“Yes.” Vanessa knew what regret looked like, on Wilson, and right now he seemed overcome. “It was- unavoidable. Nobu and his organization were demanding results. I had to do something, and unfortunately- unfortunately, Mrs. Cardenas paid for my mistakes.” 

Matthew shook his head. “You actually believe that. You- you’re a murderer- and you really think regretting it changes anything?” 

Wilson was silent for a moment. Vanessa knew what he did. She wasn’t stupid. But she also knew Wilson truly didn’t enjoy causing suffering, and this woman- Elena- hadn’t deserved to get caught in the crossfire. But sacrifices had to be made, sometimes. Matthew was just too naive- too young, perhaps, to understand. 

“Would you like us to leave, Matthew?” she asked. It was clear neither of them were going to break the silence, and Matthew was still visibly distressed. Wilson, less so, but he had his tells, and the fingers of his left hand were toying with his sleeve. “I was under the impression that you were enjoying yourself tonight.” 

Matthew ran a hand over his face, bowing his head. “I- I was,” he said, his voice catching. 

“I see,” Vanessa said, dryly. “When you thought we didn’t know, you had no problem spending time with us.” Matthew had the grace to look guilty, at least. She pushed on, though the words were sour. “What do you really think of us, Matthew? If we’re murderers- liars- that was okay with you before tonight?” 

“No.” He sounded miserable, she noted with just a slight hint of satisfaction- it was wrong of her, she knew, but the accusation against Wilson (and herself, as his partner) had rankled. 

Wilson reached out, slowly, and rested his hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “If you would like to stop seeing us, just say so,” he said, evenly. 

Matthew laughed, miserable. “And then what? You aren’t going to just- let me walk away. You know all about me, you know my friends. I can’t let them get hurt because of me.” 

Wilson frowned. “Continuing this- relationship- is not a transaction, Matthew.” 

“No,” Vanessa agreed. She stood, abruptly, and Matthew flinched. Some part of her was happy to see it- her stomach clenched, angrily. “I see you really think so little of us, after all.” 

Matthew didn’t look up, didn’t protest. Vanessa reached out and took Wilson’s free hand, and he squeezed hers gently, reassuringly. “We should go, dear.” 

“Yes,” he agreed, at length. “Matthew needs some time, I think.” He stepped away from the couch, his hand leaving Matthew’s shoulder, and then walked hand-in-hand to the door. Behind them, Vanessa heard Matthew release a breath he must have been holding in. It sounded suspiciously like a sob. 

If Vanessa were more honest with herself, she would admit that she was fiercely satisfied, to know how they had affected Matthew. He was confused, and scared, but for the moment, she had no desire to comfort him. Wilson, however, paused with his hand on the doorknob, his shoulders tight, and he exhaled heavily. Vanessa caught his eye and smiled, and he returned it, faintly. 

She let him go back to Matthew and sit beside him, watching from the tiny hallway; their backs were to her, from this angle, but she saw Matthew lean into Wilson as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders. 

It was strange, she mused, that Matthew was so comfortable with him, after what Wilson had confessed to her, about beating him within an inch of his life. But when Wilson leaned in to kiss him, Matthew melted into it, and it was then that she knew that Matthew belonged to them- whether he wanted to or not. 


End file.
